


Better Than Him

by WhatTheBodyGraspsNot



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: Drunk!Seb&Chris, Established Friendship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 07:52:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1737005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatTheBodyGraspsNot/pseuds/WhatTheBodyGraspsNot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I could do better.”</p><p>That hits Sebastian like a wave of uncertain but frantic hormones, and he’s almost positive that that’s not what he meant. “…what?”</p><p>“He made you feel good, yeah?” Chris says calmly, eyes not leaving him once, “I could make you feel better.”</p><p>OR:<br/>Sebastian and Chris are partaking in a night of heavy drinking after a particularly rough training day when Sebastian lets slip that he may or may not have slept with Chase Crawford during the filming of The Covenant. First Chris is amused. Then Chris is jealous. Then Chris does something that Sebastian has only dreamed of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than Him

Sebastian Stan is not a complainer—he’ll meet each challenge thrown at him and do his absolute best until he’s done—but holy. shit. are his muscles so fucking sore right now.  The combat coordination training that they have him and Chris doing for Cap 2 dragged on and on today, working him harder than he’s ever committed for a role before.

There was a whole lot of leg work—quick, low squatting and regaining height to dodge thrown fists like they’ll be doing a couple months from now on set. “Gotta get those chicken legs Winter-Soldier-ready,” one of the trainers had told him, and he supposes that he should be a little insulted, but honestly he wants to please these people so badly and do a good job that he learns to take everything with a grain of salt. But god damn him if he doesn’t feel the deep ache in each individual muscle as he shuffles painfully to his car in the dark gym parking lot.

He groans, long and pained as he throws a leg into his car and lowers himself into the driver’s seat, his thighs burning mercilessly. The clock on his council reads 10:34 as he keys the ignition and his vehicle rumbles to life.

10:34. He and Chris had been working almost non-stop for five hours.

Sebastian lets out a lengthy moan of a sigh, letting his body slump forward and forehead rest against the steering wheel. Maybe he can just take a little catnap for a second before—

A sudden collision of knuckles knocking against glass rips Sebastian from his daze, head jerking up and body tensing immediately as he glances with concern out his window.

It’s Chris, hunching down so his face is visible and therein isn’t assumed to be some sort of predator.

Sebastian blinks, wills his heart to pump a couple thousands beats slower, and then rolls down his window.

“Left your phone,” Chris smiles, waving the device playfully at eye level.

“Oh.” Seb blinks again, brain doing an awful job at functioning properly, and then grabs it from Chris through the open window. “Thanks, man.”

He doesn’t think it’s possible, but just clicking the phone display on to check for messages ends up hurting. When the screen lights, a box pops up.

 _1 missed call:_  
Chris Evans  
10:31p.m.

Sebastian stares at it, his confusion evident when he glances back up to his friend.

“I uh…I tried to call you when I realized you had left it,” Chris offers, trademark sheepish grin forming endearingly across his lips. “Rang in my hand. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so dumb.”

Sebastian smiles fondly, “You’re not dumb.”

Chris chuckles, tucking his hands in his pockets and glancing across the otherwise empty parking lot, save for his own car of course. “By the way, couldn’t help but notice you were walkin’ a little stiff.”

Sebastian is mid phone-tuck, hips lifted absurdly from his seat as he slides his cell back into his pocket. “I’m dying, man.” Chris is a close enough friend that he doesn’t mind telling the truth—how honest to god sore he is.

“Know what helps that?”

“Huh?”

“Scotch.”

Seb snorts, rubbing a hand over his face tiredly before there’s a long pause that prompts him to glance back up to Chris’s delightfully honest face. Oh. He’s serious. “Is Captain America telling me to drink away my pain?”

Chris chuckles, “I’m telling you that it’s late, tomorrow’s Sunday, and there’s not enough aspirin in the world to knock out the pain from a leg-heavy training day.”

Sebastian grins, can’t help that devilish sort of prickle that overtakes his body because believe it or not, he’s pretty familiar with the “healing properties” of alcohol. “No bar by the hotel.”

“I’ve got my own scotch.”

“Do you?” And oh…that devilish grin is turning into a full-fledged smirk. “Wanna share?”

“It’d only be fair,” Chris smiles, his hands coming to rest on the edge created by the open window, his shoulders hunching as he leans closer, “What room are you in?”

“It’s pretty trashed.”

He laughs, endearing and beautiful. “Ok, then. I’m 305.”

Sebastian nods, the smirk still so present but at least the attempt to subdue it is present too. “I’ll beat you there.”

“No shit, you’re already in your car.”

“Better hurry then. I can’t guarantee how much will be left when you get there.”

Chris chuckles, eyes falling to the ground in thought before drawing his hands back up and pushing them into his pockets as he walks backward, deliberately maintaining eye contact as he grins. “I’ll see you there then.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sebastian does actually end up making it back to the hotel before Chris, but only just. He’s got the disturbingly painful act of getting out of his car without crying out like he’s being murdered down pat before Chris’s car is rolling up beside him.

“Have you never worked out before?” he can hear him tease, punctuated by a car door slamming shut and the car beeping as it’s locked.

Seb answers with a friendly “Fuck you,” and hobbles to the front doors of the hotel with as much pride as he can muster, which isn’t much.

After further observation, Evans isn’t doing so hot either, all talk--but his steps are shorter, stiffer, a slight wince every now and then.

Sebastian watches him non-creepily from the elevator bank, the UP button lit as he waits. “C’mon, old man.”

Chris grins, realizing that the jig is up. “I don’t think all those squats were necessary tonight.”

The feeling is mutual. After the fifth set, Sebastian had felt like he was going to tear something important and never be able to walk again. Or reproduce.

He’s about to join in on the work-out-bashing when the woman from behind the check-in counter finally notices them, her voice reaching across the lobby. “Oh I’m sorry, gentlemen. The elevators are temporarily down.”

The rate at which both Chris and Sebastian’s smiles fall rivals that of a giant drop at an amusement park.

“What…” Sebastian says warily before he can stop himself.

But the woman just smiles sympathetically, apparently privy to their previous work-out-bashing. “I apologize. You’ll find the stairs to your right. I understand it’s terribly inconvenient.”

“Not at all, ma’am,” Chris smiles, and Sebastian wants to roll his eyes at him but he contains himself.

“You’re carrying me,” Sebastian mumbles as they slowly turn to find the stairs.

Chris snorts. Which isn’t a yes, so…

“Oh-…oh my god.” Sebastian is dying within the first few steps, his already heavily worked leg and thigh and calf and just overall body muscles aching in protest as he climbs, relying heavily on the banister to his right.

Chris is sympathetic through his own pain, doing a better job at biting down the urge to curse and yell and throw a fit because life isn’t fair and it shouldn’t feel like you’re giving birth just from going up three flights of stairs. “Take ‘em all at once,” he suggests, trailing a few steps behind him, “Don’t draw it out.”

Sebastian tries not to whine, he really does, but _fuck_. “Why are you so good at this?”

“Didn’t used to be,” he grins through a wince of pain, “Trust me.”

A seasoned veteran. If he can do it, so can Sebastian Stan.

It’s a vote of confidence, and it gets him bounding through the first five or six stairs with ease before that nice, full body burn starts again and “Ow ow ow ow okay fuck— _ow_ —”

He’s about to go down for the count--feels like he’s kissing death--until he’s startled by the feeling of two hands planted firmly on his ass and _pushing_ him forward, up the stairs.

Heat immediately rises to Sebastian’s cheeks, the feeling of his friend’s warm hands on him through his sweatpants just a little too much to be an all-of-the-sudden affair.

“Whoa,” he breathes out, keeping up with the speed at which Chris is pushing him up the stairs. “Whoa whoa whoa Jesus— _Jesus,_ _Chris_ slow down.”

“Work through the pain!” Chris is enjoying himself, not being the one on the receiving end. “C’mon, Seb.”

And Sebastian is actually pretty grateful for the added push, but it’s suddenly getting his body going in ways it shouldn’t—ways that would surprise him if he wasn’t already agonizingly aware of his long-standing pining over Chris Evans. “Okay I’m good. _I’m good_ ,” he all but snaps, swatting behind him in an attempt to bat the intruding hands away. “I’m okay, I’ve got the rest.”

He’s both relieved and disappointed when his backside is no longer being manhandled by his costar. Propelling himself up the few remaining stairs is a challenge, but a necessary one.

 

* * *

 

 

The hotel rooms they’re staying in are not cheap: a nicely sized bathroom giving way to a tastefully-adorned room with a queen sized bed, fully equipped with a television and mini-fridge that already has some of Chris’s leftovers from a couple nights ago when he sweet-talked Seb into trying out a tapas bar with him. Sebastian gently suggests that he’s pretty sure you don’t take home leftovers from a tapas bar because it’s very purpose is to be a sort of warm-up appetizer sort of thing. Chris had been unaffected, piling mini tacos and some sort of pork something into a take-out container.

It doesn’t take the two long to fish out the scotch and pour themselves a heavy dose in the provided glassware from beside the ice bin.

“Just what the doctor ordered,” Chris says like he's 70 years old, settling back into one of the two plush chairs that are positioned by the table in the corner of the room.

Sebastian takes a generous swig before psyching himself up for the painful experience of taking a seat down across from Chris. The cushy padding is a godsend, cradling his aching backside like a long-lost lover.

The scotch is a nice addition too, simultaneously easing his muscles and making him forget about how they came to be so sore. Instead, he decides to focus on the contemplative, yet charming faces that Chris is making as he talks, looks around the room, how his throat works smoothly as he swallows. All of it, really. It’s nothing new, he’s been doing this since the first weeks of filming The First Avenger, time and time again and always relying heavily on how adorably oblivious Chris can be sometimes. Especially when he’s drunk.

Sebastian smirks, bringing his glass up to his lips and tilting his head back before realizing it’s bone dry, then reeling back and staring at the glass like it has personally offended him.

Chris is a pile of giggles across from him, hand splaying across his chest as his eyes squeeze shut in one of his signature laughing fits. “That’s the third time you’ve done that!” he cackles, setting down his own glass before he spills alcohol everywhere.

Sebastian’s brow furrows in confusion and maybe a bit of surprise. “In a row?”

Chris nods, too overwhelmed by a fit of laughter to speak.

Sebastian has no recollection of this. None whatsoever. He also doesn’t remember when they turned the television on or when he took his hoodie off.

All he is aware of is the sudden urge to piss.

“Wow,” is all he says, astounded by himself as he shakes his head and moves toward the bathroom.

And yeah, he’s definitely peeing like he’s been drinking a lot. But his reflection doesn’t look nearly as wrecked as he usually does, he decides while washing his hands. Huh.

“Oh god…” he hears Chris say with amusement from the room.

“What?” Sebastian mumbles as he staggers out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on his t-shirt because he didn’t do as good of a job drying them on the towel as he originally thought.

Then he looks up and Chris is standing there, remote in hand and eyes glued to the movie on the television as a shit-eating grin stretches across his face.

 _“What’re you lookin’ at, fag?”_ Comes an all too familiar voice from the television, and Sebastian’s aware enough for his face to go white, smile now replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated dread and embarrassment.

No. Not _The Covenant_. Anything but _The Covenant_.

That astounded look of amusement on Chris’s face as he watches the infamous locker scene unfold before him is enough to make Sebastian lurch forward for the remote. It’s only a matter of time before--

 _“That thing between your legs._ ” He hears his younger self say on screen, cocky and proud, _“It’s like a penis. Only smaller.”_

Chris dies, a pile of hysterical laughter as he reaches his arm up at full length, just two inches away from Sebastian’s grasp. “Oh my god what is this!”

Sebastian jumps for dear life, finally snatching the remote out of his costar’s grasp and fumbling to press the PREVIOUS CHANNEL button as fast as he can, but not before his character is pressed roughly against a wall of lockers.

“Wow,” Chris is still smiling so hard. “For a locker room full of naked teenage boys, that was surprisingly homoerotic.”

Sebastian runs a hand warily over his face. “Jesus Christ.” Of all the movies that could have been playing tonight, it's that one. At least Chris didn’t watch long enough to see that whole _‘I’m going to make you my wee-yotch’_ thing.

“Is the whole movie like that?”

The teasing is relentless and Seb can’t think of a better reason to go pour himself another glass and down it as fast as he can. “Not exactly an Oscar winner.”

 “At least you still looked adorable.”

“Gee thanks.”

Chris is still grinning like an ass hole. “What? I’m not gonna say you looked hot—how old were you—like, 16? That’d be weird.”

Sebastian throws him a look, “I was 23, you dick.” But deep inside he’s stuck on the fact that Chris just inadvertently called him hot.

That must come as some sort of surprise because Chris says, “Whoa, really?” and before Seb can catch what’s happening, Chris is picking up the remote and switching the channel back over to _The Covenant_. “Look how young you look, though! What a baby face!”

“Auugh, Chris…” he whines from his spot on the chair because he doesn’t want to get back up and wrestle the remote back into his possession. So instead he reaches a grabby hand out towards him, making a whiny little noise from the back of his throat.

“What’s with this guy’s eyebrows?”

Sebastian doesn’t even have to look at the screen to know who he’s talking about. “Don’t make fun of him.”

“Who is that, even?”

“Chase Crawford,” he answers too quickly. “Don’t be a dick, he’s awesome.”

Chris shrugs innocently, holding his hands up in surrender, “Are you guys close?”

“Were.”

“What happened?”

“Life.”

“That’s not a good answer.”

Sebastian drains his glass, suddenly parched from this rapid-fire conversation, especially about his oftentimes weird past. “S’complicated.”

Then he heaves himself from the plush chair and walks over to let his eyes land on the screen, where Chase is in the middle of delivering some really gold-star-worthy lines, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he remembers the scene.

Chris watches Sebastian move, watches the grin fight to break forward. “Holy shit, I know that smile.”

Sebastian glances at him, “Huh?”

“That’s definitely a let-me-stand-here-and-remember-all-the-juicy-details-of-that-one-time-I-slept-with-this-person-but-not-tell-my-best-buddy-Chris-Evans smile.”

His heart dips a little, mostly in concern for how atrociously bad he is at keeping his face in check when he’s drunk. “Wh--…uh…”

“Oh my god!” Chris cries out, scandalized grin breaking across his entire face as his eyebrows shoot up nearly to his hairline.

And Sebastian can’t help that stupid blush that’s probably creeping up on him as he rolls his eyes through a smile. “Fine. Yes, I slept with him.” He almost doesn’t say it, but then the scotch assures him that _yes, this is absolutely a wonderful addition to the conversation_ so he adds: “a lot.”

Chris’s eyes widen, hungry for gossip like a sixteen year old girl. “A _lot?”_

“I’m actually surprised no one knew. We were pretty stupid about it.”

“Clearly not cut out for the big leagues.”

And Sebastian…doesn’t know what that means. “Uh…sure.”

“Oh man,” Chris chuckles lightly, shaking his head and letting his eyes rest on the floor. “Such scandal.”

Sebastian takes another glance at Chase before finally fishing the remote out of his friend’s hand and shutting the television off.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s around three in the morning when the final remains of the bottle of scotch are tipped into their glasses, some of it ending up on the table because their aim has become total shit in the process.

Their aching muscles are a thing of the past, making room instead for drunken chatter about some pretty outlandish things, or wondering how hard it would be to successfully order room service without making complete asses out of themselves.

Sebastian laughs, but it’s that special, full-hearted laugh that’s reserved just for Chris because he’s the only one that can pull it out of him, raw and unabashed and completely, hopelessly smitten. He wonders if it’s as obvious as he can’t help but let it be.

“A lot of them,” Sebastian finds himself saying when Chris asks about the frequency at which he was type-casted as a troubled, gay character. “Almost all of them.” Which is an exaggeration, but there was one point in his career when he honestly wondered if this was it, if this was the type of character he was going to be stuck playing for the rest of his life. “Lots of boy-kissing.”

He frowns. That was a weird way to say it.

“And then of course _real_ boy-kissing,” Chris muses, watching him from over his last glass of scotch.

Sebastian rolls his head back onto the back of the seat, not sober enough to stop the blushy look on his face. “Are we still talking about that?”

“Don’t think I’m ever gonna _stop_ talking about that.”

A defeated chuckle rises out of Sebastian and he throws his hands up in defeat. “Okay fine. What, Chris? Whadaya wanna know?”

Preening in his victory, Chris takes another sip from his glass and smirks devilishly. “Whatever. Anything.”

There’s a moment when Seb considers that they’re grown men and not actually a couple of sixteen year olds gossiping at a sleepover. Then he shrugs, offering: “Well…neither of us knew what the fuck we were doing, so it was awkward and stupid and everywhere and really really fucking good.”

Chris lets that sink in, and then narrows his eyes. “S’not nearly as detailed as I was hoping for.”

Sebastian laughs, “Dunno what you want from me, man.” There’s honestly so much scandalous stuff he could dig up from 2006, Chase-related or not, that he doesn’t even know where to begin.  He wasn’t exactly the best good-decision-maker at that time. “Made me feel good.” He offers after a moment.

Chris’s eyes are on him, and he thinks he’s about to protest again until he says, all joking aside: “I could do better.”

That hits Sebastian like a wave of uncertain but frantic hormones, and he’s almost positive that that’s not what he meant. “…what?”

“He made you feel good, yeah?” Chris says calmly, eyes not leaving him once, “I could make you feel better.”

Sebastian’s pulse takes off, but he does his best to recover, lowering his voice. “ _Could_ , or _can_?”

Then Chris smirks. “ _Will_ ,” he says. “If you let me.”

Oh.

Um. Holy shit. Sebastian swallows. “You tellin’ me or askin’ me?”

“Whatever turns you on faster.”

The room spins, the total turnaround in conversation giving Sebastian whiplash. “I-…” he starts, but then notes that dark spark in Chris’s eyes. “Tell me,” he decides.

“How ‘bout I show you instead.”

It’s so honest and so palpable that Sebastian has to gather himself, has to take a second and just walk over to the window so he can open it and let the cool breeze grace his suddenly overheated skin because _Jesus_ …

“Too much?”

Sebastian turns, picking up on Chris’s movements behind him until he’s standing right in front of him. “No I--…no.” He may be drunk, and he still may not be the best good-decision-maker, but god damn him if he hasn’t wanted Chris’s hands all over him from the minute they met. “Not enough.”

Chris grins but it’s filthy, laced with intent as he takes another step towards him, presence solid but undemanding. “What do you want?”

Sebastian swallows, willing his brain to function properly. What does he want. What does he want. That’s such a loaded question, especially for their situation right--

“How’d he kiss you?”

Seb glances up at him, innocent and slightly confused until the question registers. How did Chase kiss him? Oh. That’s…

“Quick,” he answers, part of him wondering where in his good conscience he figured this was a normal conversation.

Because it clearly isn’t, all aroused suspicions debunked when Chris closes the space between them, a hand coming up to rest gently against the side of Seb’s neck. “Mm. Bet you wanted it slow sometimes though,” he smiles quaintly, voice low and warm breath ghosting across Sebastian’s mouth as he speaks. “To take your time. Enjoy it. Kinda…like…” and then he dips down, brushing his lips so fucking lightly against Sebastian’s that he can barely feel it until there’s more pressure—sweet and unhurried.

Sebastian lets the breath he didn’t realize he was holding out through his nose slowly. Chris pulls back to lick, light but playful at his full bottom lip before gently bringing it between his teeth and sucking tenderly.

Sebastian melts, his eyes fluttering shut with bliss because wow wow wow is that different in the best way.

Chris hums quietly, slowly licking into Seb’s mouth and it’s all happening at such an exaggeratedly slow pace that there’s finally time to appreciate every little aspect of everything. The slick, hot warmth of Chris’s mouth, the gentle but deliberate pull of Chris’s fingers on his skin, the slow, meticulous slide of their tongues against each other’s.

He and Chase had been fast and all fumbling hands and go go go because they were just a couple of skinny, awkward punks trying to figure everything out--how to touch each other. And it served its purpose, but Chris is better. Chris is smooth and masterful of the art in a way that Sebastian never considered before. He’s there, ever-present in the moment and deliberate with every movement and every slide of his tongue and it’s all just so very surreal.

Sebastian’s already embarrassingly hard, his sweatpants not doing much to hide the fact, and he figures he should be at least a little cautious of this, tilting his hips away from Chris’s body until his ass presses against the cool wall behind him. Because they might be in the middle of a seriously thorough make-out session, but that doesn’t mean that he can expect more—that Chris will find further excuse to make his point clear.

But Sebastian’s body stirs to life under Chris’s firm but gentle touch regardless, the taller man’s hand sliding from his neck up to run a thumb over his jaw line, then down to rest on his chest—and there’s this sudden sense of possessiveness that drives his movements.

Chris’s hand drops smoothly, his knuckles accidentally brushing just roughly enough against the bulge in Seb’s sweatpants that Seb can’t help the immediate whine—high, wanting. His eyes snap open, wide and doe-eyed as he looks at Chris, concern not even beginning to cover it.

But Chris is staring right back at him, blue eyes swimming with both surprise and desire. And it feeds the fire.

“Chase was rough,” Sebastian blurts out, eyes shifting frantically between Chris’s, praying to whatever deity that may be out there that his declaration isn’t as desperate as he feels.

Chris’s eyes narrow for a moment, the gears in his head turning almost audibly in his head before he bites his lip and breathes out, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Then Chris presses his hips forward, rocking gently against Sebastian, who is both delighted and stunned by the matching arousal that slides effortlessly against his. “You wanted it slower, though. Drawn out.”

“Yeah,” Sebastian breathes, voice hoarse as he does his best not to snap his hips up against the friction but holy shit is that better than he thought it’d be.

“Wanted it to tease you—make you want more?”

“Yeah.”

Chris ruts particularly smoothly against him and Sebastian’s body catches fire. “Wanna feel our cocks rubbing together?”

“Fuck,” Sebastian groans, his head thrown back until it rests on the wall behind him. His dick twitches, hard and aching for release as Chris ruts against him, their dicks sliding against each other through two unrelenting layers of soft sweatpants.

“Too much?” Chris’s smile is wicked but they both know he’s serious, that this came out of nowhere and…

“No,” Sebastian says breathlessly, fingers coming up to tangle themselves in Chris’s hair. “No. Don’t stop.” The telltale warmth pooling low in his stomach makes his eyes drop shut, voice hoarse. “Fuck, Chris, don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. He’s relentless in his strides—long and meaningful and just at the right angle that it paints stars behind Seb’s eyelids, the probability of taking one’s time feeling better than going at it fast and hard no longer escaping him. This is better than that. This is honest and deliberate and so in your face that there’s nothing to hide behind, nothing to distract you from the delicious movements and noises and--

A loud, whimper of a moan escapes the back of Sebastian’s throat as he tips over the edge, fingers gripping harshly into Chris’s hair as he spills, hot and sticky inside his sweatpants, hips bucking in tiny jerks as he rides out his orgasm.

Chris leans forward, running his teeth tenderly over the exposed skin of Sebastian’s neck—sensory overload—until he’s coming apart too, moaning into his neck like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be but here, panting hard against his costar and friend and the one person who has single-handedly introduced him to a world of sexual frustration from the first time he laid eyes on him.

Sebastian breathes out, shaky and wrecked. “Fuck. Remind me to get you jealous more often.”

Chris is still nuzzled against his neck, sticky now with sweat. “Not jealous,” he mumbles even though they both realize that jealousy _had_ to play some factor in here.

Sebastian chuckles, “Mmkay…”

They stand there, panting and sweaty and sticky and just shy of awkward for a few minutes, trying to catch their breath but not quite willing to let each other go yet.

Then Chris smiles, that wicked grin of his coming back in full swing. “When I have enough energy, I’m showing you that I fuck better than him too.”

Sebastian laughs, head resting back against the wall again. “Yeah. There’s no doubt in my mind.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> The aforementioned The Covenant scene.  
> In case anyone has not partaken in this wonderful piece of cinema:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F7lkQc7q148
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please feel free to comment if the spirit moves you!


End file.
